


Shelter from the strom

by sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-15 14:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9239231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands/pseuds/sad_eyed_lady_of_the_low_lands
Summary: It was never a case of if the panthers broke out of prison and figured out he screwed them, it was a case of when the panthers broke out of prison and figured out he screwed them.Two years after the end of the show Neal Caffrey is living in France under the name Victor Moreau and Peter's running the devision. Both of them are caught off guard by the sudden return of the pink panthers.(Re-up loading/ finishing an old fic, in case anyone was wondering why this seemed familiar.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, so some of you may remember this fic from a while ago I came back to it recently with the intention of finishing it and decided to re-upload this as a separate story as my editing has cut out some things and I wanted to keep a record of what I originally wrote.

Neal sings softly to himself as he paints.

 

_“Suzanne takes you down, to her place near the river,_

_you can hear the boats go by you can spend the night beside her,_

_And you know that she’s half crazy, but that’s why you wanna be there,_

_And she feeds you tea and oranges that come all the way from china,_

_And just when you mean to tell her, that you have no love to give her-“_

 

Neal pauses momentarily and squeezes some more crimson on to his palette.

 

_“And Jesus was a sailor, when he walked upon the water,_

_And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower, until he knew for certain only drowning men could see him,_

_Well he said all men shall be sailors then! Until the see shall free them! But he himself was broken long before-“_

 

“Jesus Christ Vicky can’t you sing something a little less depressing for once!”

The voice breaks Neal out of his trance. His focus snapping from the canvas to the man stretched out on his sofa in a pose that’s only slightly ridiculous.

“Oi” Neal says, in mock offence “Leonard Choen is a master! And don’t. Call. Me.Vicky!”

His companions only response to this laughter, and Neal glares at him around the canvas for a second before turning back to his painting.

 

_“Your breath is sweet your eye’s are like two jewels in the sky,_

_Your back straight your hair is smooth on the pillow where you lie,_

_But I don’t sense affection no gratitude or love,_

_Your loyalty is not to me but to the stars above!”_

 

He shifts in his chair, pushing it away from the easel and tilting his head to the side to examine his work. After a second he nods, scoots his chair forward again and resumes painting.

 

_“One more cup of coffee for the road,_

_One more cup of coffee ‘fore I go, to the valley below-“_

 

“And before I go completely insane!”

Neal suppresses a groan as his model shifts in to a more comfortable, and distinctly less helpful pose.

“You know.” Neal says pleasantly. “General artist/muse etiquette dictates that the muse should sit still and keep his pretty little mouths shut!”

“Oh yeah? Well it also dictates that the artist should stop ruining perfectly good songs!”

“My singing is flawless!” Neal pouts.

“Maybe when you’re not trying to sound like Bob Dylan!”

“Hey it’s not my fault the man wouldn’t know tuneful if it danced naked in front of him playing his sodding harmonica!”

The other man gasps theatrically.

“You take that back!”

Neal dissolves into laughter.

“So I take it you don’t want my help with this then huh?” his friend snaps, springing up from the couch and starting to cross the room.

“No, Dom, wait” Neal gasps jumping up and moving towards him. “I’m sorry, alright. Bob Dylan is a master! He’s the best thing to happen to music this century, I’ll never say another bad word about him!”

Dom stops, but doesn’t move to resume his posing. “I’ll make you coffee!” Neal adds, somewhat desperately.

 

“Fiiine” he sighs. And turns on his heels, a smirk playing across his lips, “but I’m holding you to that coffee.”

Neal grins back easily and stretches, rolling his shoulders and wincing as something cracks. “How about we take a break? I think we’ve both been sitting here too long”

“Oh, you’ve been sitting there too long!” Dom grumbles. He pushes open the door closest to him with his shoulder and strolls into the kitchen. “How’d you think I feel? You’re not the one who had to keep that stupid pose for two hours! Two hours!”

Rolling his eyes Neal follows him and makes for the kettle.

“Dom, you literally used my face to make a plaster cast! You owe me!” Neal’s frustration is mostly for show. Mostly. He’d spent over a week trying to get the stuff out of his hair! He figures this is the least Dom can do to make it up to him.

Neal busies himself pulling mugs out of cupboards and dumping an appropriate ratio of instant coffee to sugar in each. When he turns again Dom’s snagged a shirt off one of Neal’s chairs. Neal leans against the counter, watching contentedly as he buttons it. He doesn’t bother pointing out that it’s his shirt Dom’s wearing.

 

Special agent Peter Burke sighs at the small mountain of paper work in front of him. He sighs again as he leafs through the top most file. It’s a request for surveillance equipment. Peter knows he could simply skip to the end of the document and sign in without reading more that two sentences of the damn thing. That’s what that every other ASEC in the building would do. He also knows without a shadow of a doubt that his unit will never be run like that. That he will never be so apathetic towards his job that he no longer cares what his team dose. So, Peter reads every file that crosses his desk from cover to cover, and most days, he doesn’t even regret it.

This is not one of those days. It’s quarter to six on a Friday and Peter has plans, plans involving dinner, and his lovely wife and son. Neil’s nearly three now, a bright, happy little ball of mischief. His namesake would be delighted how much trouble the kid causes, Peter’s sure. He jokes sometimes that the jinxed it, naming him after a con man. He thinks Neal would laugh at that, should he ever get the chance to tell him.

 

The sound of someone rapping on his office door brings him back to reality. He smiles widely as he looks up to Clinton Jones standing behind the glass door to his office; his smile falters slightly when he notices the stack of paper work the agent’s holding.

“Hey Peter” he grins, hefting the paper’s up he says “brought you a present!”

Peter grumbles amicably and Jones dumps the documents on the ever growing pile.

“So” Jones says, stepping back and settling his gaze on Peter.

“How’s the, uh.” he pauses, trying to remember which of the growing list of ongoing cases Jones is assigned to. “The Mary Poppins case-“

“Do not talk to me about the Mary Poppins case Peter!” Jones groans loudly.

“That bad huh?”

“I swear Peter! This woman is like a ghost! Every time we think we have her, poof! She’s gone! And to make matters worse, she keeps leaving us things. At the crime scenes. This time, she left me flowers! Flowers!”

Peter tries not laugh, he really does.

“I remember when I was chasing Neal, he liked to send me things too.”

“I don’t remember Caffrey ever sending you flowers” Jones points out.

“True, he did send El some though. Something about “being sorry he took up so much of my time”

Jones snorts at that. “It’s a shame though” he says, his voice serious. “Neal would’ve been perfect for this case, you know?”

“Yeah” Peter nods, “he would’ve been.”

 

Its half past when Peter finally gets home. Thanks to his wife being nothing short of a genius their reservations aren’t for another half hour.

“Hey hon” he calls, pausing briefly to hang up his coat before walking into the living room.

“Hi hon” El calls back, her voice floating airily down from the first floor.

He’s at the bottom of the stairs when he sees her standing at the top. She pauses mid stride her figure silhouetted by the soft light of hall, one foot on the first step, her hand on the banister. She’s wearing a velvety blue dress, embroidered around the neckline. Her hair tumbles elegantly around her shoulders and Peter is struck by just how much he loves her. The fact that he is struck by this realisation every time he sees her does nothing to lessen it’s intensity.

Her face lights up as she sees him, and she hurries down the stairs to meet him, stopping on the first step.

 

“Hey, hon. How was work?” She slides her arms around his neck and leans there foreheads together.

“Oh, you know” he slides his arms around her waist, “another busy day at the office.”

“My husband” she smiles, “saving the world, one art thief at a time.”

Peter snorts at this, “more like one lengthy FBI document at a time!”  
El giggles, leaning in to kiss him for a moment, before stepping past him and moving towards the kitchen.

“We got a new client today” El’s saying, “ a big one too. I think this could be really good for us, you know? It’s a sign, Elizabeth Burke is back in business!”  
El’s only recently gone back full time. The business had largely been left in the hands of her second in command while she looked after Neil. As a result the business had downsized somewhat in the past few years, but El’s back now, apparently with a vengeance. Peter’s pretty sure that before long she’s going to be the best damn event planner in the city.

“That’s great hon!”

“Yeah” she says. “It’s just so sudden, you know, I’m not sure we’re ready for this.”

“You’ll do fine El” he says, soothingly “if anyone can make it work it’s you.”

“Oh you know it!” she grins. “Anyway, enough about my day.”

Peter shrugs, “it was fine hon, I did a lot of paperwork. Jone’s cat bugler turned up again, she left him flowers this time!”

El snorts.

“He was pretty wound up about it, I’d feel bad for the guy if it weren’t so damn funny.”

“Oh Peter! Be nice!” El smacks him lightly on the arm. “I remember how wound up you used to get chasing a certain con man.”

“Neal again! Why is everything coming back to Neal fricking Caffrey today?” Peter exclaims throwing his hands up in frustration.

“Peter?” El’s brow furrows with concern and Peter feels a pang of regret for his out burst.

“It’s nothing, El.” He flashes an apologetic smile at her. I’m sorry I snapped.”

El’s eyes narrow slightly, “don’t you “it’s nothing” me Peter Burke. Tell me what’s going on.” It is not a request.

Peter sighs. “It’s nothing, really its, just … Jones brought him up earlier, said how this case’d be right up his ally and-“ Peter breaks off with a shrug.

“You miss him.” El says, softly.

It’s not really a question but Peter answers it anyway. “Of course I do El, he’s my best friend.”  
She reaches over and squeezes his hand. “I might not know Neal the way you do, but I do know that where ever he is, he misses you too.”

“Yeah.” Peter says. “But that almost makes it worse. After everything he went through to get his freedom, he deserves to be happy.”

“Aren’t you happy with your life?”

“What? Of course I am El, why would you-“

“Well then, if you’re happy with your life, whilst still missing Neal, what makes you think he’s not happy with his whilst also missing you?” El raises an eyebrow pointedly and Peter stutters for an answer.

“Well, uh, nothing, I guess.” He admits, a little sheepishly.

“You’re welcome.” El says, and Peter grins at her.

“Speaking of Neil’s,” Peter says after a beat, “ where’s the little devil?”

“Upstairs, I put him in the play pen while I was getting ready. One of us should probably go get him soon, we don’t want to be late.”

Peter’s grateful she doesn’t comment on the abrupt change of topic. “I’ll go see what trouble he’s causing.” He announces, pushing himself out of the chair and starting towards the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey! Vic!” Neal’s head jerks up in response to his name. His eyes falling on Dom’s familiar form, he raises his hand above his head and waves his friend over.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” Neal asks as Dom plonks himself in the chair opposite Neal.

“Thought I might find you here.” He says with an easy grin.

“Oh?” Neal raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I must be getting predictable.”

Dom’s grin widens, “nah, I just know you too well.”

Neal hums in response, dropping his gaze back to his lunch. He tries to quell the emotions that statement elicits, he fails.

“Vic? You okay?”

When he raises his head Dom’s frowning at him, concern etched across his feature. Neal forces a smile.

“Yeah Dom, I’m good.” He says. A voice in the back of his head, that sounds remarkably like Peter whispers “once a con, always a con.”

“You sure about that?” Dom asks lightly.

“No” he says, rather reluctantly. “But I don’t think either of us want to go down that road right now so lets just, talk about something else, alright?”

“Sure.” Dom shrugs, and reaches across the table for a menu.

“Why do you even bother looking at that, Dom? You eat the exact same thing every time we come here!”

“It’s what people do, isn’t it!” Dom says this as though its the most obvious answer in the world.

“What?” Neal suppresses a laugh.

“It’s what people do. They look at the menu and then they order.”

Neal’s actually laughing now. Dom scowls at him from across the table.

“What?” His friend exclaims, “what? Stop laughing!”

“Alright, alight” Neal throws his hands up in mock surrender. “Just go order you’re damn lunch already.”

Dom pulls a face at Neal and lurches out of his chair and towards the counter. Neal shakes his head, smiling to himself, and turns his attention back to the scene around him.

 

It’s a nice caffe, bright and modern, with large windows and a display full of pastries. It’s tucked into the corner of a rather quaint Parisian street and is run by an elderly French lady and her two daughters. The caffe’s interior is bright, the walls painted in a light cream colour, the floor dark wood. The tables are square and made of some form of white plastic as are the chairs, which are surprisingly comfortable. Neal’s table is at the front of the shop, over looking the street, which today, is mostly deserted.  
It’s October and the rapidly approaching winter is making itself known, in the form of near torrential rain. Neal had very seriously considered not coming, it’s only a short walk from the gallery but he’d still gotten soaked. Unfortunately for him the only other options were the staff break room or the visitors caffe. The former is, given that Neal’s break coincides with the breaks of about a quarter of the staff, always crammed full of far more people than it was ever intended to hold. As if that wasn’t bad enough, by the time Neal get’s there someone has inevitably commandeered the TV forcing whoever else had the misfortune of being there to sit through an hours worth of day time television or reality show re-runs.   
The latter option is always packed full of tourists and horrendously over priced. It had been his desire to eat a somewhat pleasant lunch that had lead to the two of them meeting here on a regular basis. Well that and Dom’s personal vendetta against his universities canteen.

Neal glances back at Dom who’s standing in line by the counter. It’s unusually busy today, probably due to the rain. Dom’s standing behind a handful of other patrons, eyeing the pastry display with casual interest. 

Neal slumps back in his chair and laughs. If someone’d told him three years ago that he’d end up in Paris, with a job that wasn’t illegal and an apartment that was actually his he would’ve laughed in their face, but, here he is. He still can’t quite believe this is real, or that he’s gone two years without fucking something up. He likes his life here, for the most part. Working in a gallery wasn’t exactly the future he always dreamed of, but he enjoys it, and his apartments not exactly glamours but it’s his. And usually that’s enough, sure it’s a pretty big step from his old life but it’s not exactly the first time Neal’s burnt an alias, become someone new. The difference is, this is the first time he’s tried to become someone real, he hadn’t expected it to be so hard. He still catches himself sometimes, doing things just because someone else expects it, or saying things just because someone else wants to hear them. Part of him still wonders if he can ever really be anything more than a con, or if he’s just delaying the inevitable. Today is one of those days.

 

_“You’ve spent a year staring into a mirror,_

_Another one trying to figure out what you saw,_

_Paid so much attention to what you’re not,_

_You have, no idea who you are.”_

 

It strikes him as he pitches forward and pressing his face into his hands, that the choice of song is rather fitting. He misses being Neal, he misses New York. He misses his apartment with its million dollar view that was never really his in the first place. He misses working for the FBI, he misses his friends. But mostly, he misses Peter.  
He’d known he would, his brief stint in Cape Verde had taught him that. But there’d been enough time between Cape Verde and his “death” back in New York that he’d been wholly unprepared for the intensity. He’d known long before he left that he was never going to see Peter again. He’d made his peace with that, at least, he thought he had. Neal’s left behind a lot of people and a lot of places and a lot of identities in his time. And sure he never likes to kill his aliases, you never know when they might come in handy again, but he’s never had this much trouble burning one before. Then again, the only alias he’d had for longer than “Neal Caffrey” was “Danny Brooks.” So he supposes it’s not altogether surprising that he’s somewhat sentimental towards it.

_“But heaven knows, knows,_

_That you’re lying,_

_As far as heaven goes, heaven goes,_

_I just stopped trying”_

 

“Vic?”

Neal starts at the sound of Dom’s voice, jerking his head up to look at his friend. Dom’s standing opposite him holding tray containing a cheese toastie and a mug of coffee. He’s frowning at Neal with undisguised concern.

“You okay?”

Neal forces a smile and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Dom does not look convince, not that Neal can really blame him. “I’m fine, really, I’ve just got a headache that’s all.” It’s not exactly a lie, Neal’s good at that, misleading without ever actually lying.

Dom raises an eyebrow.

Neal laughs humourlessly, and rubs a hand down his face.

“I miss New York.” The truth does not come easily to Neal, ever instinct Neal has is screaming at him for admitting that.

Dom, on the other hand nods sympathetically and says, “can you really not go back?”

“Trust me.” Neal sighs, “if I could, I would.”

“Ah yes, your mysterious criminal past. Well, I guess we’re both stuck here then aren’t we?”

Neal snorts. “Your compassion is appreciated Dom!”

“What?” Dom says incredulously. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Neal’s started speaking almost before Dom’s finished, shaking his head sharply and drawing out the “O’.

Dom smirks. “That’s what I thought.”

 

 

Peter’s 40 minuets into his meal when his phone rings. Sighing heavily he squeezes his eye shut, slowly lowering his cutlery back to his plate.  
“Well.” El says cheerfully. “That lasted a whole 20 minuets longer than last time!”  
“Hon, I am so-“ Peter starts.   
El tuts rolling her eyes and cuts him off “go, go! It’s fine, you can make it up to me.”  
Peter takes a moment to grin at her before pulling his phone out of his pocket and answering.  
“Burke.” He says, weaving his way through the restaurant to stand in the lobby.  
“Hey, Peter.” Jones’s voice crackles through the speakers. The sound’s tiny and slightly drowned out by the din of other restaurant goers, but Peter knows that tone anywhere.  
“Jones.” He barks. “Tell me whats going on?”  
On the other end Jones clears his throat before saying “the panthers are out, Peter.”  
“The panthers are- How?”  
“I don’t yet, it looks like they managed to get themselves transferred to the same, lower security facility. They broke out before anyone noticed the error.”  
“Dammit! Dammit.” Peter swears, rubbing a hand across his face. “When?”  
“I just got the call, they’ve got about a half hours head start.”  
There’s a moment of silence before Jones says “I spoke the warden, they want you on board with this Peter.”  
Peter laughs bitterly. “Oh they’d better, because I’m working this case wether they want me to or not.”  
“Had a feeling you might say that.”  
Peter spares a moment to appreciate his colleagues before slipping back into boss mode.  
“Alright, I’m heading over to the scene, text me the address and let the warden know I’m coming.”  
“You want me to meet you there?”  
“Yeah, but I want someone back at the office to coordinate with.”  
“I’ll wake up the team.”  
“Thanks Jones.”

Peter stands there, surrounded by the hustle of Friday night in New York. He watches the cars and the people, hearing the the sounds of the restaurant buzzing behind him. He stands, and he watches the world go by, as if nothings changed, as if the phone call he’s been waiting for for two years didn’t just bring any sense of security he had crashing down around his ears. The Panthers are dangerous, and out for blood. His blood, and Neal’s. He know’s they’ll have no qualms about using his wife and child to get it.

“We need to go.” Peter announces, grabbing his jacket off of the back of his chair.  
“Peter?” El’s eyes are full of confusion, and just a little fear. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”  
“Yeah” Peter nods, “something happened. We can’t talk about it now, but I need you to do something for me.”  
“Of course, Peter, anything.”  
“Come with me, I’ll explain in the car.”  
They flag down a waitress and Peter explains that there’s been an emergency and so, unfortunately they won’t be staying for the rest of their meal. She’s very nice about it, Peter makes sure to tip her generously.

He waits until they’ve got Neil in the carseat before he pulls El aside.  
“You remember the last case I worked with Neal?” he says, there’s no point beating around the bush.  
“The pink panther case? The one that nearly got him killed?” El’s afraid, he can tell. He hate’s making his wife afraid.  
“Yeah, that one.”  
“Peter what’s going on?”  
“They broke out, El. The panthers broke out. I don’t know how, but, I’ve got a pretty good idea why.”  
El gasps softly. “Oh my god, Peter.”  
“I know! I know.”  
“They’re going to come after us, aren’t they?”  
“El-“  
“No! Peter, don’t El me. I don’t need to be coddled, I need you to tell me the truth.”  
“Yes.” He says. “I was the lead agent, I was responsible for putting them in prison. They’re going to want revenge, they’re not going to care who they hurt to get it.”  
El nods, pressing her lips together and gathers her composure.   
“What do you need me to do?”  
“Go home, pack a bag. I’m going to have an agent come over and take you and Neil somewhere safe.”  
“What about you?”  
“I’ll be okay, I promise.”  
“You’d better be!” She jabs a finger light at his chest, and Peter pulls her into a hug. “I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay.”  
“There’s something else I need you to do.” Peter says, stepping back  
“Oh? El tips her head to the side, her eyes narrowing slightly.  
“You can get hold of Mozzie, right?”  
She nods.  
“Tell him what happened, tell him Neal’s in trouble. I have a feeling if anyone can get a message to Neal it’s him.”  
“You think the panther’s will go after Neal? Even though he’s ‘dead’?”  
“I think in Neal’s world, death is somewhat subjective. This isn’t the first time Neal’s faked his death, and I’m sure he’s been careful. But the panthers are out and they’re going to be looking for him. He needs to be prepared for that.”


	3. Chapter 3

Neal’s not especially surprised to find Dom in his kitchen when he get’s home for work. He’s perched on one of the stools at Neal’s breakfast bar, eating what looks to be Chinese out of a take out box.

“Hope you brought enough for me.” Neal smirks, dropping his keys on the table and opening the fridge.

“Yeah yeah, top of the fridge.” Dom rolls his eyes.

Neal removes the two tupperware boxes and a carton of juice from the fridge.

A few minutes later he slides into the chair opposite Dom with a glass full of juice and a plate of Chinese.

It’s been a few days since they saw each other at the caffe, they’ve both been busy, Neal with work Dom with school.

“You manage to get that piece in on time?” Neal asks

“Just about.” Dom says, pulling a face. “One day you’re gonna tell me how it is you know so much about Vermeer’s brush work.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”

Dom rolls his eyes.

“What?” Neal says, “I’ve got to have some mysteries!”

“You my friend, have more than enough mysteries.”

Neal laughs.

“You manage to finish that commission you were working on?” Dom asks.

His main job's at a local gallery but he’s been selling paintings when he can. It’s mostly for fun, but it does help make ends meet.

“Yeah.” He says. “Dropped it off this morning, paid pretty nicely too.”

Dom grunts, “alright for some! All mine are getting me is debt”

Neal raises an eyebrow at him, “yours are getting a degree Dom.”

“Yeah” Dom grumbles, “remind me why I thought this was a good idea again?”

Neal shakes his head, “you’re being dramatic.”

“Probably” Dom says, “you’re one to talk.”

Neal gasps, “me? Dramatic! That’s ridiculous!”

Dom snorts, and shoves a fork full of noodles into his mouth.

“Hey, Vic?” Dom says, after a beat.

“Yeah?”

“Did you get a new phone?”

What?” Neal blinks. “No?”

“Oh.” Dom’s eye’s narrow, his brow furrowing with confusion. “That’s weird.”

“Why?”

“Because I found this-“ he pauses, pulling a phone out of his pocket. “On the table when I came it.”

“Let me see that.” Dom places the phone in Neal’s outstretched hand.

It’s a small black flip phone, he opens it and turns it over in his hands. The plastic’s smooth and shiny, judging by the condition it’s in, it’s brand new. It’s also cheap, it’s not even a brand and everything about it is distinctly plasticy. It practically has “burner” written all over it.

“Where’d you find this?”

“It was right there” Dom points to the middle of the table.

“And the door was locked when you got here, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing was out of place? Nothing at all?”

“No! Shit Vic, I would’ve told you if I’d thought someone had been in here!”

“Yeah” Neal says, softly.

“What going on?”

“Only one way to find out.” Neal holds down the power button. After a few seconds the screen lights up and a little jingle trills out of the phones tinny speakers.

Neal’s not surprised to find everything on the phone is default, at least at a glance. A quick search of the phone reveals a single number programmed into the contacts. There’s no name attached, and Neal doesn’t recognise them number but in his game that’s nothing unusual.

Neal hums “I wonder who this could be.”

“Maybe we should call the police? I mean, someone broke into your house Vic, that’s-“

Neal shushes him with a wave of his hand and hits the “call” button.

“Oh my god Vic, what the hell are you doing?”

“Finding out who broke into my flat. Now shhh”

Neal tunes out his protests and turns his attention back to the phone.

It rings exactly three times before the person at the other end picks up.

“Who is this?” Neal says after it becomes apparent whoever’s on the other end isn’t going to speak first. He keeps his voice low and smooth, straightening his back and setting his shoulders he slips back into the role of “Neal Caffrey.”

“Hello, Neal. It’s been a long time.”

Neal freezes, forcing himself not to react. He knows that voice, he’d know it anywhere.

“That’s putting it mildly.” He keeps his voice casual, but he can’t quite hold back the grin. “How’re you doing Mozzie?”

“Oh you know. Can’t complain, thing’s have gotten a lot quieter since you left.”

“C’mon Mozz, you never needed my help finding trouble.”

“You sell yourself short, you my friend have a gift for trouble like no one else!”

Neal ducks his head and laughs. “Yeah, well, not anymore.”

“So I heard.” Mozzie says somewhat coldly. “You know, I kept expecting you to turn up. Expecting that I’d open a newspaper or turn on my TV and hear about something so ridiculous it just had to be you. But you didn’t turn up.”

“Mozz.” Neal breaths, what he really mean’s is “don’t”

“Imagine my surprise when I found you. Living in a crappy apartment in Paris, working at a second rate gallery!”

“Hey!” Neal says, a vein attempt to stop this argument before it starts. “I like my apartment!”

There’s a pause.

“What the hell happened to you, Neal?” Mozzie doesn’t sound angry any more. He sounds disappointed.

Neal tightens his grip on the phone and clenches his jaw. Anger he could have dealt with; anger he would have understood. But disappointment, that’s something else entirely.

“What happened too me?” Neal laughs unpleasantly. “I grew up Mozz! That’s what happened to me!”

“You grew up?” Mozz laughs incredulously. “If you think growing up is deluding yourself into thinking you can be anything other than what you are then there really is no saving you!”

“Stop it Mozzie, I-“ Neal breaks off. Forcing himself to take a breath. “I’m not doing this. I’m not having this argument with you. Either tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”

“I have a message.” Mozzie says curtly. “From the suit.”

“Peter?”

“You know any other suits?”

“What’s the message, Mozzie?” Neal snaps.

“He says be careful. The panthers are out, and they’re looking for you.”

 

The prison is a circus by the time Peter gets there. The surrounding area’s full of flashing lights and frantic people. It becomes apparent that this is not a normal jail break when Peter hits road blocks a few meters outside the prison. He’s arguing with one of the officers, who's irately refusing to let Peter past when Jones jogs up.  
“What the hell is all this?” Peter demands once he’s out of the car, and far enough from the hustle to have a semi-privet conversation.

Jones gives Peter a helpless shrug, “apparently, there’s some sort of… Riot.”

“A riot?”

“Yeah.”

“There just happens to be a riot the same night the panthers break out? There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”

Jones nods. “I’m thinkin’ they planned it. You know, incited a riot, used the ensuing chaos to slip away while everyone’s attention was elsewhere.”

Peter grunts, “gave themselves a pretty good head start too. There’s no way we’re getting in there until this is under control.”

“Yeah, it’s a miracle we found out about it so soon.”

“How did we find out about it anyway?” He can’t imagine that head counts are top priority right now.

“They jumped a guard, roughed him up a little and locked him in a store room. It looks like they used his key card to get out. Probably didn’t bank on him getting out of there till this was all over, lucky for us the guard knew how to pick locks.”

Peter sighs, running a hand across his face. “At least we know why they were so keen for us to take point on this now.”

Jones snickers.

“Alright.” Peter says, “I want you to call whoever you’ve got back at the office. Have them reach out to the other prisons. I want to know who authorised these transfers and what the hell they thought they were doing, and I want to know yesterday!”

“I’m on it.”

“Great.” Peter says, “the Marshals are on site, right?

Jones nods.

“I’m gonna track down the agent in charge, see where they’re at with the man hunt. I was hoping I’d be able to talk to the warden but…” Peter gestures exasperatedly at the surrounding havoc.  
It takes Peter twenty minuets to find the Marshal in charge, a petite blonde woman by the name of Katie Jackson. She’s standing in the metaphorical eye of the storm. Lesser agents swarm around her with a frantic determination while she barks orders. She’s younger than Peter. With dirty blonde hair pulled back into a high ponytail and a US marshal windbreaker.


	4. Chapter 4

Agent Burke!” It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

“Marshal Jackson, right?”

“Please, call me Katie.”

“Katie, right. I was hoping we could talk.”

“Good.” She says, “I was starting to think I’d have to track _you_ down myself. Look I’m going to be frank Peter, can I call you Peter?” She doesn’t wait for a response. “The Marshal’s are doing everything we can but until we can get in there and talk to the warden, look at security footage, you know the drill-” She makes a vague, dismissive gesture at this. “-That’s somewhat limited. Usually we’d figure out their escape route and try to track their movement’s that way but by the time we do that they’ll be long gone.”

“So what are you doing?”

“I’ve got my people canvasing the area around their most likely escape route. I’ve got their pictures to local PD and every major airport in the sate but, it’s not gonna catch these guys.”

“I take it that’s where I come in?” Peter asks.

“Exactly!” She beams at him. Peter finds, much to his surprise, that he rather likes her.

“I’ve got my team reaching out to the prisons the Panthers were supposed to be in. There’s no way they pulled this off without outside help. If we can figure out who that was, we can use them to lead us back to the Panthers.”

“And?”

“And what?”

She sighs impatiently. “Look, Peter, I know your record, I’ve read your file. I know your history with these guys, and I know you’re the best. You’ve got something up you sleeve and I want to know what it is.”

“Agent Burke.” She says, off his less than impressed look.

“I’m not looking to, steal the FBI’s limelight or take the credit or whatever. I just want to put these guys back where they belong, and that’s going to go a lot faster if we work together on this. You were the lead agent on the case, you were the one who finally put them away. No one knows these guys like you. So if there is anything, anything at all, any hunch, any detail you can give me that might help us find them then-“ She breaks off, spreading her arms wide in a hopeful gesture, her body language open, honest.

Peter sighs. He might not have the best history with the Marshals but he’s always believed in intra-department cooperation. Besides, he really could use all the help he can get.

“If you’ve read the case reports you know it wasn’t just me who took down the Panthers.”

“Well, no.” Her brow furrows in confusion “I’m sure you had an excellent team but-“

“I did.” Peter interrupts. “I did have an excellent team, I still have an excellent team, but most importantly, I had an inside man.”

“Right, the CI, what was his name-“

“Neal.” Peter supplies “Neal Caffrey.”

“Right” She says and then she frowns. “Now I don’t mean to be insensitive here, but Neal Caffrey’s dead. Mathew Keller shot him, so, what good does he do us now?”

“He was a con man, who double crossed the Pink Panthers. Everyone knows what happens when you double cross the Panthers and Neal faked his death before, more than once. They aren’t just going to take it for granted that he’s really dead they’re going to want to be sure.”

She nods pensively. “As Neal’s handler I’m guessing you have a pretty good idea who his contacts were and where to find them.”

“Yeah.” Peter nods, “I plan to contact as many as possible, if we’re lucky the Panther’s will reach out to one of them.”

“And they’ll reach out to you. Sounds like a good plan.” She says. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”

“As long as you’ll return the favour.”

“I find anything, you’ll be the first person I call.”

“I appreciate that”

“No problem, now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a man hunt to run.” She gives him a ruthless smile as she starts to walk away. She takes a few strides before stopping, suddenly.

“Oh! Agent Burke” She calls.

Peter turns, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head in question.

“Your boy Caffrey, he is dead, right?”

“That’s what my files say.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not the truth either.

 

 

Agent Diana Berrigan has been in DC for two years. She’s accomplished a lot in those two years, both personally and professionally. She’d been sad to leave white collar and she’d been sad to leave her friends, but she’s never doubted for a second that it was the right decision. The DC cyber crimes devision is really something to behold and Diana is steadily working her way up the ladder. She’s also figuring out being a mother and moving in with her girlfriend. Its been tough, its been hectic, its been scary and Diana’s loved every goddam minute of it.

Although, curled up on the sofa of her apartment with a beautiful girl, watching her son play trains on the living room floor and listening to the rain lashing the windows, she knows there’s nothing she loves more than this.  
So naturally this is the moment her phone rings. She knows it Peter before she even looks at the screen; years ago she mistakenly bet Neal he couldn’t guess her passcode. Of course he didn’t just guess her passcode he lifted her phone, guessed her passcode, took a bunch of stupid photos and gave everyone on the team custom ringtones. Then he put her phone back where he found it and took himself very far away from her wrath. She’d undone most of the damage and put the fear of god into him but even several phone’s later she’d kept the ringtones.

“Hey boss” she says, trying not to sound too put out.

“Diana.” She knows from his tone this isn’t a social call. “I need your help.”

“Sure.” She says, almost reflexively. There’s very little she wouldn’t do for Peter, “anything.”

“You might wanna hear what I’ve got to say before you agree.” He warns.

“Peter, after everything we’ve been through together, you know I’m not going to say no to you.”

“Still” he says.

“Alright” she sighs, “tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Shit!” Diana hisses, earning herself a sharp, concerned look from Dani.

“Yeah” Peter says.”Look, the Panthers are dangerous and I know what I’m asking you to risk. If you don’t want to be involved I understand.”

“No! Peter, I want in.” She insists. “Your family is my family I want to protect them. Besides Neal died trying to put these bastards behind bars, wouldn’t be right if they got away now.”

“Thank you, Diana.”

“Don’t thank me yet!” She says, reality is beginning to get in the way of her desire to drop everything and run back to New York. “I assume you were planning on having me reassigned to White Collar?”

“Only temporarily.” He says. “”But I wanted to clear it with you before going through official channels.”

Diana appreciates that. “Peter, I’m going to do everything I can to help but I need you to hold off transferring me, just for a little bit. I need to make arrangements, I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Of course, call me, when you’re ready.”

“I will.” She assures him. “Peter, if there’s anything I can do in the mean time…”

“I will let you know.”

 

She says goodbye and turns to Dani. She’s draped across the sofa, kneeling on the seat with her torso braced against the back. Dani’s a striking woman, a few inches taller than Diana and just as beautiful. Her eyes are so dark that from a distance they look black, it’s not until you get closer you can see the ripples of light. Today they’re outlined in slightly smudged gold liner making her eyes glow, and the skin around them sparkle slightly. Her hair is much the same colour as her eyes and frames her face like a bushy halo. She’s wearing a slightly oversized grey jumper, which Diana’s pretty sure is cashmere, a pair of snug blue jeans and an expression of concern.

“Di?” She asks, her brow furrowed adorably. “What’s going on?”

“That was Peter” she says, hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Dani says “I heard.”

“He wants me to go back to New York…”

“What?” Dani asks, a hint of humour in her voice, “realised he can’t run the department without you did he?”

“Not quite.” Diana sighs. “The last case I worked, before I transferred here, we were trying to take down this, gang of thieves the called themselves the Pink Panthers.”

“Yeah, I remember hearing about that on the news, that was you?”

“Well.” Diana says, “I was part of the task force, but yeah. Problem is they broke out of prison and Peter…”

“Wants you to fly back to New York to help him catch them?”

“Yeah.”

“Look at you! Every devision wants the great Diana Berrigan!” Dani exclaims, grinning.

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind what? You going to New York?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”

“I can’t ask you not to do your job babe, I knew what I was signing up for when I asked you out.”

“It could take months.”

Dani’s face softens, and she slides off the sofa and crosses the room coming to a half in front of Diana.

“We’ll make it work” she says, putting her hands on Diana’s shoulders.

Diana sighs softly and leans into her, circling her arms round Dani’s waist and pulling her close.

“What did I do to deserve you?” She murmurs

“I don’t know. Must’ve been something impressive though” Dani teases, leaning forward and kissing her softly.

Diana leans back after a second and sighs again. “I should ring Peter back, tell him to go ahed with the transfer. And, I should ring the nursery, let them know Theo’s not gonna be in-“

“Wait, you’re taking him with you! Di you don’t need to do that, you know I’ll look after him.”

“I know, Dani, and I appreciate it. But I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not, I’m offering.”

“I know, I know but… I need to know he’s safe Dani, I need to be able to protect him, I can’t do that if he stays here.”

“But, won’t it be more dangerous in New York?”

Diana see’s her point, she really does but “Peter’ll have Neil and El at a safe-house, I know him, he won’t take any chances with their safety. El won’t mind watching him, it’s the safest place he can be. I hate to ask that of her but-”

“Well then don’t” Dani says.

Diana opens her mouth to argue but Dani cuts her off, “take me with you! You won’t have to ask El to look after Theo, and you know how much I love New York!”

“We’re not talking about a vacation here Dani, you’d be in protective custody! Trust me, that gets dull after the first half hour, you’ll be bored to tears by the end of the week!”

“Well!” She says decisively. “That’s even more reason for me to go, isn’t it? Someone’s got to keep El company.”

“I… Are you serious, Dani? You really want to come?”

“Yes.”

Diana laughs, a little breathlessly, “I guess I’d better make that call then.”


	5. Chapter 5

Neal sees Dom as soon as he steps foot outside the museum. He briefly considers turning around and going out the back, but Dom doesn’t deserve that. Neal just doesn’t want to deal with the slew of questions his friend is undoubtedly going to bombard him with, not that he can exactly blame him he knows Dom’s just trying to help; he also knows he can’t, under any circumstances tell him about the Panthers. The less Dom knows about it, the better for both of them. Which means Neal’s going to have to lie to him, and Neal really, does not, want to lie to him. He’d made a point of it when he became Victor, of not lying to his friends, or anyone if he can help it, and so far, he hasn’t. Not about anything important, anyway.   
Neal stops, shoulders slumping and stares at Dom. He’s leaning up against one of the gates at the entrance to the gallery’s grounds, his head’s bowed as he types something on his phone. Neal can’t really see his face, just a mop of curly auburn hair. He frowns a little, watching Dom’s body language, trying to decide if he’s pissed, the fact Neal’s been ignoring his calls for nearly a week does not bode well for him.   
Before he can make a more detailed assessment of his friends emotional state Dom raises his head and his eyes land on Neal. There’s a brief, tense pause before Dom registers Neal’s presence and any questions Neal had about his friends opinion of him are answered by Dom’s face breaking into a grin. Neal suppresses a laugh, he’s been ignoring Dom all week for no apparent reason and the guy still looks pleased to see him.

“Oh, you actually are still alive then? I was beginning to wonder!” Is the first thing Dom says to him.  
“Dom…” Neal starts.  
“Don’t “Dom” me! Vic what the fuck’s going on?”  
“Dom-“ Neal starts, he breaks off when he realises he has no idea how to finish that sentence. “I can’t okay.” He says lamely.  
“This is about that weird phone call, isn’t it?”  
“…Yeah.” He admits. “I’m serious, Dom I can’t tell you what’s going on.”  
Dom sighs and leans back on his heels studying Neal.   
“Alright.” Dom says, his voice is light but there’s an undercurrent Neal recognises. Whatever he’s about to say is not up for debate. “I’ll make you a deal.”  
“Oh?” Neal says.  
“When you say you can’t tell me, Vic I believe you. I do, and even if I didn’t I still wouldn’t make you tell me. So, I won’t ask you what’s going on again.”

Once again Neal finds himself thrown. There’s a lot of ways Neal imagined this conversation going but Dom understanding was not one of them. People, especially people who know who he really is, trusting him, really trusting him, is not something he’s gotten used to. Below the confusion and gratitude is anger, because seriously, he could’ve just told Dom he couldn’t talk about it, but no. Instead he’d done what he always did and shut out his friends.

“What’s my side of the bargain?” Neal asks, though he already knows he’ll agree to it.  
“Well, firstly, stop ignoring me, arsehole!” It takes Neal a moment to process that sentence, mostly because half of it’s in French and half of it’s in English. Dom always did prefer cussing in the latter.   
“Done.” Neal says, trying to emphasise his sincerity. Most of the frustration in Dom’s voice had been put on but not all of it.  
“And just-“ Dom breaks off, rubbing the back of his neck self consciously. “ Vic, are you in danger?”  
“Maybe.” Neal says. “I don’t know yet.”  
“Just, be careful, alright?”

 

The walk back to Neal’s apartment is mostly uneventful, they spend most of it catching up. He tells Dom about the pompous American tourist who’d yelled at him because everyone in the gallery was speaking French, and then threatened to have him fired when he’d tried to point out they were in France!   
Dom tells him about his current uni project, and fills him on his classmate’s latest debacles.

 

Neal’s apartment is nice, not as nice as June’s, but still nice. Besides, he’s discovered there’s something satisfying about knowing this space is really his. The “apartment” is really the top floor of a two story house that’s been renovated into it’s own, self-sufficient space. It’s an old house, but it’s in good shape. The outside is made of smooth, weathered stone, the front door is a deep, glossy green and is framed on either side by large, bright windows. The house even has a little front yard, complete with window boxes full of roses, there’s no lawn, but the cobblestones are disrupted by little patches of grass, it really is very pretty. Or, at least, it is in the summer, today it’s cold, the roses are bare, the grass is dead and the cobblestones are slick with mud and moss.   
The wind picks up and Neal shivers, hastily shoving the key into the lock and tumbles into the relative sanctity of the hall. Dom pushes in after him, talking softly about what they should have for dinner.

The bottom story of the house is rented to a middle aged nurse named Isabelle. It’s laid out a little more conventionally than Neal’s flat. The front door opens into the main hallway, which is bright and narrow, on the right is the downstairs bedroom the door to which is firmly shut. At the end of the hall and to the left are the stairs to Neal’s apartment, to the right is the door to the kitchen. There’s a bathroom tucked in under the stairs and a living room behind the bedroom. The house is quite still and quiet. Both of them drop their voices to accommodate the silence, and because Isabelle works night shifts. Neal’s been chewed out for waking her up more times than he’d care to admit. 

Neal pauses while Dom begins depositing his things on the coat rack, idly scanning the house. Neal’s not sure what it is that catches his attention, what it is that about the situations that’s setting off alarm bells, but the longer he stands here the more intense the sensation of wrongness gets.

Neal, grabbing Dom’s arm and hissing at him to shush goes still. Ignoring the confused looks Dom’s sending his way he takes a breath and focuses on his surroundings, brining his senses into focus. The house looks the same as it always does at least at a glance. Neal’s gaze scans over the hallway with it’s cream coloured walls and wooden floor and past the hall into the kitchen. He has a fairly clear view of it from where he’s standing, he’s pretty sure it’s empty. Most of the kitchen table is in his field of view. There’s a small collections of miscellaneous items, an empty cereal bowl, a couple of mugs and what looks like some form of diary scattered across the table top. There’s a small pile of dirty dished piled into the sink and the far end, and all the cupboards Neal can see are closed. It looks undisturbed, although it’s hard to tell from here. The door to the living room’s open as well, although Neal can see less of it than the kitchen. Just a little sliver of the room, mostly taken up by window and sofa. Neal’s eyes track up the stairs, peering into the landing which is equally unhelpful.

The fact that Neal can’t see anything out of the ordinary is not doing anything to ease his nerves, but, there’s more than one sense after all. Neal focuses instead on what his other senses are telling him. The house is quiet, city noises filter dimly through the walls. The rush of traffic, the distant wail of sirens, someone shouting, Neal tunes it out turning his attention inward. There’s the faint buzzing of the fridge from the kitchen and low rumbling from the buildings ancient plumbing. The house smells of coffee and air-freshener and, like all old house, very faintly musty. Nothing unusual there either, Neal’s actually starting to think that he’s imagining things when, very faintly, the unmistakable sound of a floor board creaking drifts down from above. Not in the way that floor boards creak as houses settle either, in the way floor boards creak when somebody steps on them.

It hits him, suddenly, what his instincts have been trying to tell him since the moment he stepped foot in the house; they are not alone. You spend enough time breaking into places, you get pretty good at knowing when you’re alone and when you need to run. Right now, all of Neal’s instincts are screaming at him run, but Neal likes it here. He can’t just drop everything and run, not until he’s sure. Against his better judgement he turns, pressing a finger to his lips to keep Dom quiet and tugs gently on his sleeve. Dom obligingly steps forwards, he looks like he can’t quite decide if he should be confused or amused.

Neal leans towards him. “I think there’s someone upstairs.” He can’t see Dom’s reaction to this because his face is basically pressed against the side of Dom’s head so he speak into his ear. Which, whilst slightly awkward is better than tipping off whoever’s in the house.  
“Wha-“  
“Shh!” Neal hisses clamping a hand over Dom’s mouth. “Be quiet!” Neal waits a moment before taking his hand away.  
“I’m gonna go check it out. You stay here, don’t move, don’t make a sound. You see anyone that’s not me you run, ok?”  
“Okay?” He says again, when Dom doesn’t respond.  
“But-” Dom starts again, confusion has definitely won over amusement. Before Neal can say anything else the floor boards creak again, louder this time.  
“Shit!” Dom hisses.  
“Hey!” Neal tightens his grip on Dom’s arm. “Just do what I said, alright?”  
“…Alright.”

Neal inches forward, careful to keep his steps silent. There’s definitely someone moving around upstairs, the noises are a lot more distinct now. As Neal creeps towards the bottom of the stairs something above him begins thumping. After a few minuets the thumping stops abruptly and Neal freezes halfway up the stairs. For a few, tense moments theres silence, before the unmistakable sound of Neal’s door being yanked open rips through the house, promptly followed by the sound of footsteps.   
Neal has time to realise that he should’ve gotten the hell out of here the instant he realised there was someone in the house and whatever happens next is entirely his fault, before a figure materialises on the landing. The house is dark, the short winter days coupled with the fact the lights are all off making the house dingy, but even in the dim light he recognises the face of Alan Woodford staring back at him.  
Several things happen at once, Woodford yells and launches himself at Neal, who turns on his hells and leaps down the stairs. He lands running, and, grabbing Dom by the arm on the way past, wrenches the door open and sprints into the Parisian evening.

 

“State your name for the record, please.”  
“Uh, warden Jonathan Marsh, uh, Ma’am.”  
“And, you were the warden who signed over the prisoner for transfer, weren’t you?”  
“Well, yes, but…” The warden, a young blond man, shifts uncomfortable in his seat. “Look, man, I was just doing my job okay!”  
“That’s funny!” Agent Jessica Samson plants her hands on the table and looms over Marsh. “I could’ve sworn your job was to make sure that felons stayed in prison, not to help them escape!”

From behind the safety of the two way mirror Peter allows himself a smirk. Jess, despite being a good two feet shorter than Peter, is an intimidating young woman. What she lacks in stature she more than makes up for in presence. Jess is a short, stocky woman, with silky dark hair and one of the most intense death glares Peter has ever been subjected to.   
Jess is a good agent, a little green, but Jones is training her well. Peter had been hoping to work with her more closely, just not under these circumstances.

Faced with the full force of Jess’s scrutiny Marsh cracks pretty quickly. His story is the same as every other warden they’ve spoken too. Two men, dressed like marshals, approached him claiming there was a threat against a prisoner and they were there to transfer them to another prison. They showed the warden ID and paperwork and talked their way into being allowed to transfer every member of the Pink Panthers to a minimum security prison. Each time they came in with a group who appeared to be actual marshals and put their prisoner on a legitimate prison transfer bus. This coupled with targeting inexperienced wardens allowed them to pull off a prison break with relative ease.

“Well that was a waste of time!” Jess declares, hands planted on her hips.  
They’re gathered in the conference room having released Marsh a few minutes earlier. Jess, unfortunately is right, aside from ID-ing the “marshal’s” he spoke to from a sketch based on the other warden’s descriptions Marsh’d given them nothing useful.

“How’s that ID coming anyway?” Peter asks, they’re running the sketches through every facial rec database they can think of, and then some.   
Tessa, another of Jones’s team, pulls a face. “Nothing so far, sorry boss. The sketches are still running though, we might still get a hit.”  
“Great.” Peter sighs. “Someone please give me some good news.”  
“Please?” Peter scans the room slightly desperately. The other occupants, Jess, Tessa and the final member of Jones’s team, Max shift awkwardly, avoiding Peters gaze. He takes that as a bad sign.   
“Right.” He says. “Tessa, I want you to carry on trying to get an ID off the sketch, go chase the IT guys if you have to. Jess, Max, I’ve got some more witnesses from the prison break coming in I want you guys on interviews. I’m going to check in with Jones.”


End file.
